Feathered Enchantment

In a room that once commanded great respect, stage lights began to hiss with heated anticipation. There were sounds of alcohol infused rumblings and laughter rolling through the rows of seats from the tongues of young fancies whose foibles await the reverence paid to tales that may last a lifetime. A baritone voice boomed in imposing prominence that demanded attention. With such articulation, trained by years of experience spent in circus tents and speakeasies, the once proud barker's monologue cracked from age and fifty years of bad whisky. He had a past filled with evil deeds and dashed hopes, but on he stumbled as the introduction to tonight's show surged from his lips. A young lady emerged mid-stage from behind a curtain. A single spotlight bathed her every titillation, perfectly choregraphed to a pulsing rhythm. All eyes were fixated as imaginations were provoked beyond reality. The white feathers of her costume teased senses and libidos raged while she strutted, ending with a peek that would even give a preacher reason to pause. As the lights dimmed and the cat calls subsided, backstage an old women picked up her broom and slumped upon a stool. A tear fell, caressing her weathered cheek. Breathless, after performing the dance she'd practiced a thousand times, the young women took her final curtain call to an uproarious standing ovation. As she dashed toward the dressing room, the old woman rose from her stool and the two embraced. The joyful exuberance was that of a child at Christmas. Her voice cracked as she exclaimed, "I haven't felt this alive . in fifty years! "My dear sister, may I wear this enchanted costume again after your next show?" "May I, May I," the young girl implored. "Of course", the old woman replied, "twins share everything." C.W.S. 03/25/2020